


Hasty Planning

by ashitanoyuki



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Captivity, Happy Ending, Honestly these characters get way more comfort than I usually give, Hurt Lance (Voltron), Hurt/Comfort, Implied Dysphoria, Imprisonment, Lance (Voltron) Whump, Lance (Voltron)-centric, Lance's low self-esteem, Lotor is a creep with no regard for boundaries or personal space, Non-Consensual Touching, Other, Post-Season/Series 03, Protective Shiro (Voltron), Rescue, Self Confidence Issues, Trans Lance (Voltron), Trans Male Character, Traumatized Shiro (Voltron), Whump, non-consensual situations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-03
Updated: 2017-10-03
Packaged: 2019-01-08 11:12:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12253176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ashitanoyuki/pseuds/ashitanoyuki
Summary: When his plan to find the real Shiro and bring him back to the team falls flat, Lance finds himself the subject of Lotor's attention. Lance must endure Lotor's unwelcome affections while working out a plan to free his friend from the control of the druids.





	Hasty Planning

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Wisttic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wisttic/gifts).



> I asked the lovely Wisttic to give me a Voltron prompt, and received a simple "Lotor on Lance whump" request. I thought it would be about 3k words of focused whump and hurt-no-comfort. Instead, uh, have this?

The prison-block was cold.

Lance had been aboard the Galra ship for all of maybe two days, and that was the only solid impression he’d formed, apart from the overall sense that the whole place just _sucked._ Being dragged onto the ship with a tractor beam sucked. Being forcibly wrenched from his pod (at least it wasn’t his lion) sucked. Being stripped of his generic Altean armor and manhandled into some sort of tight black space-onesie and purple crop-top? _Sucked._ Seriously, orange jumpsuits were flattering in comparison – and Lance would know, he’d worn the Garrison uniform for _years_.

This was all worth it, Lance reminded himself as he watched yet another giant purple galra make their rounds through the prison. It wasn’t like he’d been forced into this – no, as soon as they discovered that the ‘Shiro’ who’d returned wasn’t actually Shiro (and had a good idea of where to find him) he’d volunteered to go out and track down the real Shiro.

…And, okay, the entire team had shot down that idea, but it wasn’t like any of them were _dumb._ They’d figure out that he’d gone after Shiro and that he’d left Red behind so they could find another paladin for her and still form Voltron. Heck, maybe not-Shiro would become the red paladin. The dude seemed decent, and it wasn’t like he’d _meant_ to impersonate one of the closest friends Lance had ever had. The team would be fine, Lance could pose as a prisoner-gladiator or whatever until he located Shiro, then it was just bam, bust out, bring Shiro home. Easy, right?

Lance shivered and rubbed at his arms, dragging the thin fabric of his prison-onesie over his skin to create heat. Yep. Easy.

Something loud clanged outside his door, and Lance leapt back with a _very_ dignified yelp. It definitely wasn’t a shriek. Nope, not at all. “Stand with your back against the wall and your hands in front of you,” the galra outside his cell ordered, staring at him with unblinking yellow eyes. Lance gulped, his gaze drawn to the pair of magnetic cuffs dangling loosely from the galra’s hand. Yeah, those were about to go on his wrists, he’d bet actual money on that. Quiznack.

The guard rumbled warningly, and Lance stumbled back hastily, holding his hands out. “Sorry, sorry, hey look, this is me, cooperating!” he babbled. Okay, maybe he should have thought his plan through a bit more. Maybe he should have developed an actual escape plan and left instructions on Keith’s door, or something.

The guard opened the door and advanced on him, and Lance suddenly wondered what would happen if he died in the ring. He didn’t have his _bayard,_ much less his lion or the power of Voltron. Quiznack, what if they expected him to fight with a sword? He didn’t know the first thing about swordsmanship! He closed his eyes and swallowed hard as the guard snapped a cuff around each wrist and then wrenched them together, leaving Lance bound with magnetism and… whatever kind of metals the Galra made their cuffs from.

Lance had to practically speed-walk to keep pace with the guard. To his uneasy surprise, his captor marched him past the gladiator entrances that led to the arena, turning instead in the opposite direction. Several floors and multiple turns later, and Lance had no idea where he was. The purple light was somehow softer and less intense than it had been in the prison block, and the ship’s architecture, while still hard and precise, carried some strangely intricate details that seemed at odds with the general Galra aesthetic.

This was… weird.

The galra halted in front of a large archway sealed with imposing doors. He swiped a hand over the access pad, but the doors did not open. “Prince Lotor,” the guard said, “I’ve brought you the paladin.”

Lance went rigid. _Lotor?!_ Quiznack. And how the heck did they know he was a paladin?! The only Galra who’d actually laid eyes on him outside his lion were with the Blade of Marmora, and he’d left his bayard and lion behind. Was it because he showed up in an Altean space-suit? It wasn’t that different from a generic space suit!

Lance’s thoughts stuttered to a halt as the doors hissed open. “Bring him in,” a low, melodic voice ordered. Huh. Lance was used to Galra sounding harsh and fierce. This dude could be some sort of jazz singer.

He didn’t have much time to ponder the voice before the guard disconnected the cuffs and shoved him forward. Lance stumbled, tripping over his own feet as the doors snapped shut behind him. He reached out as he fell and snagged something silky that barely slowed his descent before he landed hard on his knees.

“Hm. Is this the physical prowess of a paladin of Voltron? I must say, I’m not impressed.”

Lance took several deep breaths to slow his furious heartbeat before looking up. The first thing he did was drop the fabric he held, allowing the luxurious comforter to pool beside the bed he knelt by. _Weird._ Furtive glances at his immediate surroundings did not reveal the speaker; he rose shakily and turned around, seeking the source of the voice.

His first thought, dumbly, was that this man couldn’t possibly be Galra. If anything, he looked positively _Altean_ , with his fine-boned features and dexterous build, flowing silver hair and expressive eyes. The only things missing were the Altean facial markings.

But the purple skin, the cruel gaze, the sheer radiation of sadistic power? That was all Galra. A shudder ran down Lance’s spine, but he forced himself to meet the man’s eyes.

“Nothing to say, paladin?” The man – Lotor – asked lightly, a tiny smile playing at his lips.

Lance swallowed hard. “Why do you keep calling me that?” he asked, hoping that his voice wasn’t shaking as much as he thought it was.

Lotor chuckled. “I suppose you thought you were clever, coming here in a pod, rather than your lion,” he said, leaning forward and resting his chin on a hand. “Of course, it was an Altean pod, and you’re no Altean. And, according to records, the Galra have only ever encountered three members of your species, one of whom became a paladin – and you aren’t one of those three. We first found your species several light-years from our nearest base, using primitive technology to traverse space. Yet here you are, out in our territory in an Altean pod, and I should believe you haven’t been helped by the Alteans and aren’t a paladin of Voltron?”

Lance forced himself to shrug and offered a shaky smile. “Coincidences happen,” he offered.

Lotor smirked. “Yes, that may be so,” he said easily. “But, in the spirit of honesty, your green paladin managed to hack her way into our systems and hail me from several galaxies away, demanding your return. I’d say that confirms your identity, whatever pitiful explanations you may offer.”

Aw, quiznack, that was _just_ like Pidge. …Actually, that was reckless even for Pidge. What was she even trying to accomplish?

Lance took a step back as Lotor rose from his throne-like chair. Lance’s thighs hit the bed’s mattress as he took another step back, and he lurched forward to keep his footing as Lotor advanced on him. The man stopped only a few inches away from Lance, who tilted his head back to meet the man’s eyes. “Forgive my rudeness,” Lotor said, offering a handsome, unnerving smile. “I am Prince Lotor, as I assume you are aware. I have taken over my father’s affairs while he is – indisposed.”

Lance gulped and leaned back slightly, his heart pounding in his chest. Lotor frowned and tilted his head slightly. “Don’t be rude, paladin,” he said, an undercurrent of iron hardening his melodic voice. “Give me your name.”

Lance swallowed hard. An ache crawled up his back as he fought to stay upright while leaning away from the prince. “Lance,” he said after a short pause.

Lotor hummed. “Lance,” he said. “What a simple name. It stands on its own, without need for adornment.”

What kind of _weird?_ “Uh, yeah, that’s me,” Lance said, his voice weak. He grimaced as his spine protested its strained, unnatural angle.

“Oh, how rude of me.” Something embarrassingly akin to a squeak escaped Lance’s throat as Lotor shoved him hard, pushing him down onto the bed. “You’re uncomfortable. Let me fix that.”

No sooner did Lance get his bearings back than Lotor sat down on the bed beside him. Lance choked on his protests as Lotor hauled him semi-upright and pulled Lance flush to his chest, holding him tightly with inexorable arms. “There now, that’s better, isn’t it?”

Lance lurched forward, clawing at the arms holding him. “Let me go!” he shouted, kicking at the bed, his heels bruising when they slammed against Lotor’s armored legs.

Lotor chuckled and tightened his grip; Lance gasped at the pressure on his lungs and still-sensitive top surgery scars, slumping back slightly.

Lotor hummed tunelessly for a few minutes, just holding him. Lance’s skin crawled where the galra touched him, but for lack of options, he forced himself to lay lax in his arms, not fighting. Not yet. He needed a strategy before fighting against this creep.

He tensed when Lotor finally moved, not to release him, but to begin stroking his ribs idly with one hand. “I expected power and defiance,” the prince mused. “You certainly are defiant, I’ll give you that. However, I did not expect that your form would possess such _beauty.”_

 _Beauty._ Lance went rigid at the word, his limbs locking instinctively. He hadn’t been called a dang “beauty” in years – not since he was only on blockers, before enrolling at the Garrison. The Garrison had supplied him with his first dose of T and had set him up for top surgery even before his classes had started, and he hadn’t heard that hated term since then. He took a deep breath through his nose – there was no way that this quiznacking alien could know any of that. He was fine.

Lotor chuckled. “My, my, my,” he murmured, digging his fingers into Lance’s side. “Someone doesn’t like being called beautiful. I wonder why that might be?”

Lance took a deep breath. “Get your hands off me,” he snarled lowly.

“Oh?” Lance’s breath hitched as Lotor tightened his grip, his fingertips bruising against Lance’s skin. “But why should I? You’re my pet paladin, aren’t you?”

Oh, no way. Lance leapt forward, nearly managing to escape the bed before Lotor hauled him back with his unnaturally strong arms. “Let go!” Lance shouted.

Lotor growled in Lance’s ear, and Lance shouted as Lotor flipped him, throwing him to the bed and straddling his hips. Lance’s heart pounded wildly as Lotor held his wrists down above his head, looming above him like he belonged there. “Stay down, little paladin,” Lotor said, grinning down at him. “My little Lance,” he said, and Lance shivered at the predatory tone. “You won’t be tamed easily, will you, my pet?” Lotor asked mockingly, tightening his grip on Lance’s wrists.

Lance shivered and hoped that the glare he directed at his captor hid his terror. “Whatever you want, you won’t get it from me,” he spat.

Lotor’s grin widened. “Oh, I should hope not,” he said, releasing Lance’s wrists. “Not right away. Your impotent defiance is too... intriguing. I should hate to see it shatter too quickly.” He pressed his hand to a panel beside the bed and settled back, smiling at Lance.

The doors hissed open before Lance could gather up his wits to lunge at the smirking man. He cursed furiously as the galra guard from before pulled him from the room, stone-faced but unusually gentle as he led Lance back to his cell.

Okay, things weren’t hopeless. Apparently, Pidge had guessed where he was. Which, okay, not too hard to figure out. And yeah, his plan had gone sideways, but it wasn’t a total bust. Lance would just have to find Shiro from… from his cell. Quiznack. He’d really been expecting to find him in the arena.

Well, when the rest of the paladins came for him, they’d be down to look for Shiro too, right? Or maybe they’d find Shiro first, then come for him. They _would_ come for him, Lance told himself. They’d come for them both.

* * *

Several more days passed, filled with nothing but boredom and counting the cracks in the walls, before the galra soldier came for him again. This time, Lance wasn’t surprised to be marched past the arena and walked down that weirdly ornate hallway.

It was a deviation from his expectations, however, when the guard passed Lotor’s room, turned down what seemed to be a service corridor, and forced Lance into what passed as a galra shower stall. He protested losing his clothes, but the galra shredded the weird onesie with one hand and pushed him beneath the spray, leaving him naked and shivering as he awkwardly washed, while his enemy watched him unblinkingly.

The clothes offered afterward the shower were at least as bad as the prison uniform. Lance glowered at his galra captor as he reluctantly pulled on the powder-blue jumpsuit. The guard stared back impassively, and he reluctantly layered with a sheer white shirt and some sort of flowing white pants split at the mid-thighs and the calves. His limbs were completely covered, and yet he felt strangely exposed. Something about this whole wardrobe change was disturbing in a way Lance couldn’t quite put his finger on.

His captor wasn’t interested in his protests as he led him to Lotor’s room. Lance recognized the doors barely a second before they opened and he was thrown into the chambers, fighting and failing to keep his footing.

“You do clean up nicely.” Lance froze, staring deliberately at the ground, as Prince Lotor’s voice washed over him. “Come here, Lance. I’d like to take a look at you.”

Nope, nope nope nope, not gonna happen. Lance scrambled to his feet and stared Lotor directly in the eyes, mustering up his most ferocious glare even as he backed away from the man. The prince lounged easily against the pillows on his bed, and met Lance’s glare with a smirk. “Really, Lance, it’s rude to keep royalty waiting,” he said, raising an eyebrow.

Lance took a deep breath before responding. “Really? I do it all the time,” he said, trying to twist his facial expression into something resembling a smile.

Lotor’s smile grew slightly strained at that. “Perhaps that is permissible among weak races such as the Alteans, but not among the Galra.”

Lance couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow at that. “So, you’re not part Altean?” he asked.

It was the wrong thing to say, he realized almost immediately. Lotor’s face hardened and he rose in one fluid motion, crossing the room far more quickly than Lance would have expected. Lance made it a few steps backwards before Lotor seized him by the arms with hard, punishing hands. Lance hissed and struggled against the prince’s bruising grip. “Let go!” he snarled, hoping that the tremor in his voice was all in his head.

Lotor manhandled Lance back against the wall and held him there with a seemingly immovable grip. “Those with galra blood are galra,” he murmured, leaning in so close that his lips brushed against Lance’s ear. Lance shivered, almost more unnerved by Lotor’s even, gentle tone than he was by, oh, being _pinned to a wall by a crazy space man._ “Our blood is strong. Half-galra, quarter-galra, less than that, what have you – we are _all_ part of the empire. Any other races in a galra’s bloodline are irrelevant.”

Well, Lance had definitely struck some sort of nerve. Hooray. He could use this information… somehow. If he lived that long. “Got it,” he managed. “Okay, I got it. You can let go of me now.”

Lotor took a small step back, still standing only a few inches from Lance. “You would do well to remember your helplessness when you speak to me,” Lotor said, his face once again calm and amiable. “You stand here with no armor, no weapons, no allies – certainly not your lion or the rest of Voltron.”

Lance fought the urge to grind his teeth. Yeah, rub it in there, buddy. “Got it. The power’s all yours, I’m your prisoner, blah blah blah villain monologue.” Wait. Quiznack. Maybe he shouldn’t call his captor a villain to his face.

Luckily, Lotor seemed mostly amused by Lance’s response. “The power _is_ all mine, and you _are_ my prisoner,” he said easily. Lance fought not to flinch as Lotor reached out and ran a hand down his cheek. “My very beautiful prisoner.”

Lance grimaced, and Lotor chuckled. “And why do you protest when I point out your beauty?” he asked. Lance flinched as Lotor’s hand trailed down his neck and over his clavicle, wandering idly across his chest. “You’re very nearly a work of art, a dream of aesthetics. Does it shame you as a former warrior, this focus on your appearance?”

Lance ground his teeth together and drew his hands up, shoving Lotor’s chest as hard as he could. The prince froze for a split second, then lashed out with his free hand, seizing Lance’s wrists and yanking them above his head. Lance let out a strangled yelp as his wrists ground together, held securely in the prince’s steely grip.

“You know,” Lotor said, meeting Lance’s eyes, “I have been remarkably patient and gentle with you. While I do appreciate your fire, your attempts to fight me off physically are pathetic. You should stop embarrassing yourself.”

Lance attempted to wrench his hands from Lotor’s grip at that, just on principle. “At it again with the monologuing,” he quipped, twisting his body as best he could to escape Lotor’s touch.

The prince hummed, moving with Lance to continue his journey down his torso, touching, exploring. Lance growled, but there was nowhere else to move. Lotor’s hand quested further downwards, and Lance tensed instinctively, every muscle in his body growing tight. Lotor’s sudden silence was unnerving, and Lance almost missed the running commentary.

He almost expected some kind of remark when Lotor’s hand descended from his lower abdomen to explore his groin. Some sort of gross comment, the kind Lance had heard way too often whispered in the shadows from asshole classmates who’d figured out he was trans. The prince, however, seemed completely unfazed and quickly moved on to the tops of Lance’s thighs, touching and stroking as though he had every right to his actions. A weirdly grateful lump rose in Lance’s throat, but he forced himself to swallow it down. He wasn’t going to be grateful for _anything_ this monster did after – after – all that _touching._

Eventually, even with the advantage in height and arm span Lotor had on Lance, the prince reached a point where he would have to either let Lance’s hands down or stop friggin’ _touching_ him. Lance sagged back in relief as Lotor rose to his full height and released his hands. Lance drew his hands back and rubbed at his sore wrists, shaking harder than he’d like to admit as he stared at the man looming above him. “What… What was _that_ about?” he demanded, his voice trembling.

Lotor shrugged. “Curiosity,” he said calmly. “The few things we know about your species come from questionable research. The witch was more interested in modifying the champion than learning from him. I would much rather learn your body on my own terms.”

Lance’s stomach lurched. “Okay, you got enough of that, then?” he asked, crossing his arms across his chest in an attempt to stop shaking.

Lotor chuckled. “From one angle,” he said, his smile widening. “Turn around.”

For a long moment, Lance was sure his heart was about to beat out of his chest. Time seemed to slow, his limbs suddenly too-heavy, the air around him growing inexplicably cold. “Why?” he croaked after a long pause, curling slightly in on himself.

He shivered as Lotor gripped his chin lightly, tilting his head up. “Because I want you to turn around,” he said softly. “I can make you, of course, but I’d rather you obey of your own accord, because I asked it.”

Lance swallowed hard. It… It would just be more touching, right? Touching his back, his legs, his ass, he could handle that, right? He could handle an exploratory hand.

He couldn’t make himself move.

Lotor’s expression morphed to one of annoyance. He seized Lance by the shoulder and whirled him around, slamming him face-first into the wall. Lance choked out a cry as his nose crunched at the impact. “Stay still,” Lotor ordered, forcing a knee between his legs to spread them. Lance swallowed hard, biting back tears as Lotor ran his hands over his shoulders and down his back, squeezing gently, exploring. He bit his lip and forced himself to remain silent as Lotor’s hands reached his ass, gripping and pinching almost playfully.

Lotor’s hands lingered on his ass, and Lance was struck by the thought that if someone gave him the opportunity to kill this man, he would take it and wouldn’t lose a wink of sleep. Lotor groped and squeezed, seemingly fascinated by Lance’s shivers and instinctual jerks of protest.

“You don’t like it when I touch you here,” Lotor mused, kneading Lance’s ass rhythmically. “You didn’t care for contact with your genitals, either. Are these parts considered taboo to your species?”

Lance glared at the wall in front of him, clenching his fists. “Well, we sure don’t like creepy strangers getting up-close and personal with our junk!” he snapped.

Lotor huffed a laugh. “Oh, my apologies,” he said, trailing one hand across Lance’s side, then reaching around to grab tightly at his crotch. Lance yelped, jerking instinctively backwards at the sudden pressure against his junk. Lotor laughed lowly at his reaction. “I’m not a stranger, so this should be acceptable, shouldn’t it?”

He was going to scream. He didn’t – he couldn’t be touched like this, not while he was vulnerable, not by someone like Lotor. “Let go of me,” he growled.

“Oh, or what?” Lotor asked, sounding amused. “Beg me, _paladin,”_ he taunted. “Beg me, Lance. Beg me to release you.”

A part of Lance screamed at him to comply. To beg, to get those slimy hands off his ass, to remove contact from _that_ area. But no, that would just be playing into what Lotor wanted, because Lotor wanted him to beg.

…Unless Lotor wanted to keep torturing him with touch, in which case, he was doing a damn good job. Quiznack.

Lance stared at the wall in front of him and tried to distance himself from Lotor’s hands on his body. It didn’t mean anything. It just made the prince some run-of-the-mill creep. “Do your worst, Lotor,” he said, his voice flat. “I won’t beg you for anything.”

Behind him, Lotor laughed. “Lance, my dear young paladin,” he said brightly, “I was hoping you would react this way.”

Lance closed his eyes and tried not to feel as Lotor’s hands continued to roam his body, gentle, feather-light strokes occasionally interspersed with firm grabs. Not until Lotor withdrew his hands and stepped back did Lance dare open his eyes. He took a shaky breath, then another, willing his heart to stop pounding so wildly. Only once he was sure he could face Lotor with a neutral expression did he dare turn around, staring stone-faced at the prince.

Lotor stared back and clucked disapprovingly. “This is unslightly,” he said. Lance tensed as Lotor seized his chin firmly and tapped just near Lance’s throbbing, likely-broken nose. “The druids will complain if I send you to them for an injury so small… But they work for _me,_ now, not my father, they can hardly refuse my orders...”

Lance took advantage of Lotor’s temporary distraction to wrench his chin from the other man’s grasp. He winced as his jaw protested and raised a hand to make sure he hadn’t dislocated it. …That was stupid, he’d know if he’d dislocated it – it didn’t hurt _that_ badly. Still. Ow.

“Really, Lance?” Lance’s eyes darted back to Lotor, who’d remained in place, his brow furrowed. “You’re still fighting me? You have to know that this is pointless and you have nowhere to go.”

Jeez, this guy sure loved the sound of his own voice. Lance shrugged. “You know, for a guy who keeps acting surprised that I’m fighting back, you haven’t exactly done a lot to stop me,” he said – then froze as his words played back in his head.

 _Mom always said my mouth would get me into trouble,_ he thought as Lotor straightened fully, seeming to tower above Lance. “I… didn’t mean it that way,” he said, raising his hands. Was the gesture for surrender universal? From Lotor’s carefully blank expression, he didn’t think he’d succeeded in placating the man.

“Oh, but you did, Lance,” Lotor said, baring his teeth in a terrible pantomime of a grin. “Very well. You want me to give you a reason to stop fighting me?” He cupped Lance’s face with unnervingly gentle fingers. “I can give you one. Torture is so inelegant, but since you practically begged me…”

Quiznack. Lance could feel himself shaking violently, even as he tried to force himself to remain still. This was bad. This was very bad.

“What’s this?” Lotor asked, his expression morphing to one of sympathy. “You’re shaking already? Oh, Lance, and to think that I haven’t yet given you a reason to fear me!”

Lance swallowed hard. “Y-you have,” he squeaked. “You have. No need to torture me.”

Lotor chuckled. “Now, now, if I don’t make good on my promises, what does that say about me?” he asked, gently brushing back Lance’s hair. Lance shuddered, his skin crawling in the wake of Lotor’s touch. “I’m not a cruel man, Lance,” he said, smiling. “The inhabitants of the worlds I have conquered would be the first to tell you that I am fair, and merciful, and willing to compromise. But when someone challenges me, I will accept, and the challenger does not get to back out without consequences.”

Lance’s heart pounded furiously, and he allowed himself to slump back against the wall as dizziness overtook him. He stared at Lotor, his mind racing as he desperately sought the words to beg, to convince the man not to hurt him. Spots danced before his eyes, and he realized he was hyperventilating. Okay, step one was to stop that. _Deep breaths, Lance_.

He nearly squeaked as Lotor grabbed him by the shoulder and gripped him tightly, forcing him forward. “Remember, Lance,” Lotor said, his voice cutting through Lance’s panic, “you asked me to give you a reason.”

 _Pain._ Lance cried out as burning pain shot through his arm, the nerves screaming in protest as Lotor dislocated his shoulder. He fell to his knees, instinctively reaching for his shoulder and then jerking his hand away as a wave of agony rushed through him. Lotor towered above him, staring down with an expression akin to sadness. Lance gritted his teeth and attempted to glare at the man, even as tears prickled at the corners of his eyes.

“I know,” Lotor said in response to his glare. “I’m sure it will take more lessons for you to accept how helpless you are, how _futile_ your fight is. For now, I am willing to stop and send you to the druids to be healed, so long as you admit your helplessness and swear to at least _attempt_ to control your urge to resist.”

He should say yes. It was the smart move – get healed, get sent back to his cell, and start _seriously_ working on an escape plan. Lance opened his mouth to agree, then paused.

If he agreed, Lotor would send him to the druids, for “healing.” He didn’t know much about them, and he didn’t know what exactly they did, but they worked for Haggar and he’d managed to gather that most of Shiro’s nightmares stemmed from his time with the druids. Maybe his best bet would be to provoke Lotor into enough of a rage that he’d hurt him and then send him directly back to his cell without healing. Lance cleared his throat and forced himself to meet Lotor’s eyes, his shoulder screaming in protest as it shifted with his movements. “Y’know, Prince _Lotion_ ,” he forced out, “It’s gonna take more than this to break a paladin of Voltron.” He glared at the Galra prince, too-aware of his heart pounding in his chest. He was in for a world of pain, but somehow the knowledge that he’d practically invited the pain was soothing.

He wasn’t going to take this lying down. He might not have his armor, or his bayard, or his lion, but he was still a paladin. He could still resist.

Lotor smiled. “You’re far more interesting that I had anticipated,” he said, reaching down and hauling Lance up by his bad arm. Lance bit back a shriek as molten fire coursed through his torn ligaments and abused muscles. Lotor shifted his grip to hold Lance by his good arm. “I may have underestimated you. Your species may be weak in terms of musculature and body composition, but you can _take a beating_ better than most, can’t you?”

He knew what was coming. Lance bit back a scream as Lotor dislocated his other arm, leaving both upper limbs dangling in agony. He inhaled deeply through his nose, focusing on breathing. “Maybe galra are just wimps about pain,” he forced out, his voice slightly garbled.

Lotor paused, and allowed Lance to crumple to the ground. Lance cried out as pain flared through his battered arms. “You’re a brave little thing,” Lotor said, sounding almost admiring. “I think I see why the druids were so eager to reclaim the champion. Yours is a tenacious little species, isn’t it?”

Lance blinked sluggishly, forcing himself to regulate his breathing. Something… something about Lotor’s words was important. Now, as he struggled to keep weight off his dislocated limbs without further injuring himself, he couldn’t focus on words. “Go…. Go quiznack yourself,” he muttered.

Lotor blinked. “Well, your understanding of Altean slang is atrocious,” he said, laughing lightly, “but I applaud your efforts to insult me.”

Lance scowled and struggled to his knees. “I’ve only insulted you in Altean, so far,” he managed, dots dancing before his eyes as he struggled to suck in enough oxygen. “Wait ‘til I get going in English and Spanish… even Italian.” Couldn’t spend time with a frustrated Pidge without picking up some Italian curses. “You think I insulted you now, just you wait _._ I can get pretty colorful with you.”

Lotor laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll have to locate your planet,” he said, smiling at Lance. “It’s rare to find such a stubborn species. I imagine yours would be a great asset as an ally to the Galra Empire.”

Oh, hell no. Lance snarled at Lotor, too-aware of his inability to fight with two dislocated shoulders. “We’d never ally with you!” he hissed furiously.

“Well, then we’ve found a warlike competition to cut off at the knees. Either way, it results in victory for the Galra Empire.” Lotor smiled down at Lance. “Now, my pretty pet, I believe we were discussing your… _personal_ surrender?”

Lance glared at him. “I’ll never surrender,” he snapped. “No matter what you do to me, I’ll keep fighting you!”

Lotor’s smile widened. He reached for Lance and gripped his shoulder, sending searing pain shooting through Lance’s arm; he fought back a scream as Lotor dragged him towards the bed and deposited him flat on his back on the mattress. “You’ll keep fighting, no matter what?” Lotor asked, grinning.

Lance grimaced, tears pricking at his eyes.  “I’m not seeing any other options here,” he hissed, his heart pounding wildly.

He bit back a scream as Lotor pushed his burning shoulders back against the mattress. “You’ll break eventually,” Lotor said, smiling down at Lance. Lance grimaced, glaring up at his captor. Lotor simply chuckled. “I could hold you down forever – but, as it is, I’d rather not damage you permanently.” Lance hissed with relief as Lotor sat up and released the pressure on his shoulders.

His relief was short-lived. Lotor pressed the wall panel, almost immediately followed by the sound of the doors hissing open. Lance allowed his head to loll back, staring at his galra guard - only to meet the blank mask of a druid. Lance yelped, scrambling to haul himself upright without the use of his arms.

“Take him and fix all his displaced and broken limbs,” Lotor ordered, seemingly unfazed by the druid. Lance struggled to get his arms under control as the druid glided towards him, unrelenting. “I want him fully healed and physically unbroken when you returned him to me.”

The druid paused, bent with a fluid motion to seize Lance’s arm and haul him to his feet. “As you wish, Prince Lotor,” the druid finally promised, adjusting its grip on Lance, who couldn’t quite hold back a cry. Attempting to pull free from the druid’s grip only sent wrenching spears of pain through his ravaged arms, and his legs collapsed underneath him. Seemingly undeterred, the druid proceeded to drag Lance from the room by his ruined shoulder.

Somewhere along the way, as the druid dragged him towards his no-doubt torturous fate, Lance passed out from the pain.

* * *

_“Subject has regained consciousness.”_

It was like he was floating, weightless, disconnected from his body. His arms were blissfully pain-free, as was his face. He had the sense that the last time he’d been awake, he’d been in pain. Weird. Had they been in battle?

_“I maintain, we should perform further testing. Prince Lotor does not need to know, if we heal the subject after.”_

_“A tempting idea, but too close to treason. The Prince has claimed this one as his own. Experiment further with the champion, if you must.”_

Lance’s gut twisted with dread as he registered the other voices in the room. Just the mention of Lotor’s name was enough to send a chill down his spine, even if he wasn’t quite sure why – the dude had been a pain in the team’s tail, but he was no Zarkon, or anything. Lance cracked his eyes open, groaning as harsh purple light blinded him.

Purple light – damnit, he remembered now. He’d been captured by the Galra while looking for Shiro, and Lotor had turned out to be seriously creepy in person. He’d gotten grabby, then sadistic, then –

_Then he sent Lance away with the druids._

Lance cried out, his eyes flying open fully. He attempted to throw himself from the table, only to realize he was strapped down tightly, his arms, torso, and legs entirely immobilized. None of the three visible druids seemed at all affected by his awakening, with two busy analyzing what seemed to be vials of quintessence, and the third attending to someone on the table next to Lance. Lance thrashed desperately, craning his head to see what the third druid could possibly be doing, and his heart seemed to stutter to a halt.

It was _Shiro_ on the table next to him – or at least, it was someone who looked like Shiro. A part of Lance desperately hoped that the body next to him belonged to another clone – no way would the real Shiro simply submit to… whatever the heck this druid was doing. A token strap held down each of Shiro’s biceps, but despite his freedom of movement, he wasn’t struggling, was barely breathing, his uncharacteristically gaunt face devoid of expression. Thin streams of black light interspersed with purple sparks flowed from the attending druid’s hands into Shiro’s prosthetic arm, which sparked in response.

He wasn’t even _trying_ to resist. “Shiro!” Lance shouted, jerking hard against his restraints. “Shiro, fight them! _Shiro!”_

“Enough.” One of the druids came up beside Lance and unstrapped his arm. Lance attempted to draw back his fist, but the druid moved too quickly, snapping a magnetic cuff around his wrist. The second druid secured another cuff around his other wrist, and they forced his hands together before releasing the rest of the bindings. Lance cursed, struggling as the druids dragged him from the room, away from Shiro.

“No!” he shouted as the door snapped closed behind them, effectively sealing Shiro away. _“Shiro!”_

“Cease your screeching,” one of the druids ordered. “The champion is lost to your team, as are you.”

“You’re lying!” Lance yelled, struggling furiously. “My team will never give up looking for Shiro! They _will_ get him back!” And they’d get Lance back too, probably, even though they _definitely_ wouldn’t need him with the real Shiro back.

“Even if they retrieve his body,” the other druid said, “his mind will never recover. Now control yourself. Prince Lotor does not appreciate hysterics.”

The floor seemed to drop from beneath him. Lance barely managed to keep his footing and stumble forward alongside the druids. They weren’t taking him back to his cell? They were taking him back to _Lotor?_

Dread coiled in Lance’s gut as the druids came to a halt outside that oddly ornate door, which hissed open after only a second. “Your prize, Prince Lotor,” one of the druids said derisively, shoving Lance into the room. The doors hissed shut behind him, and Lance fought to breathe normally, instinctively pulling against the magnetic cuffs.

“Ah, Lance!” Lotor turned from the screen he faced at the back of the chamber, smiling and gesturing him forward. “Come, come, I have some people who want to see you – friends of mine, as it is.”

He couldn’t quite see the people on-screen from this angle, and somehow, he doubted he wanted to. “I’m good,” he called shakily.

Lotor laughed lightly, but his eyes held no humor. “I wasn’t asking, Lance,” he said, an undercurrent of danger threading its way through his tone.

Lance gulped and edged his way forward. He froze as he recognized the four women on the screen – the paladins had fought them before.

“My generals,” Lotor said, taking a step back and grabbing Lance by the shoulder. Lance managed to suppress a squeak as Lotor drew him in tightly. “Acxa, Ezor, Narti, Zethrid – this is Lance. I’d like you to find his planet and take it.”

Lance stiffened and wrenched out of Lotor’s grasp. “Don’t you dare,” he growled.

“They’re in the far reaches of the empire. We first encountered this race while exploring a moon they call Kerberos, which has been logged in our systems,” Lotor said, as though Lance hadn’t said a word. “Their planet should be in the same system as that moon. I want either an alliance, or total eradication.”

“No!” Lance shouted. Before he could even register the sheer _stupidity_ of his actions, he’d launched himself at Lotor, knocking the prince to the ground and driving his elbow into the man’s face.

Lotor flipped him without hesitation and slammed him against the ground. Lance groaned, and Lotor rose, planting one foot decisively against his chest with a loud _crack._ Lance’s breath hitched with shock and pain, and he wheezed desperately, struggling to bring in air.

“As you can see,” Lotor said, still pinning Lance to the ground with his boot, “They are stubborn, warlike, and do not know when to accept defeat. They can either ally with us, or face destruction before they advance enough to become a foe. Does that sound reasonable?”

A high, cheerful voice rang through the screen’s speakers. “They sound fun,” one of the generals said. “Any special abilities?”

“Just stubbornness, as far as I can tell – stubbornness in excess,” Lotor said.

One of the other generals grumbled with discontent. “They’re fragile,” she complained. “The paladins of that race weren’t a worthy challenge, like their Altean was!”

“They held out well enough,” the first general argued.

Lotor laughed and raised a hand. Lance glared up at the man, for all the good it would do. “Zethrid, I won’t confine you to one-on-one combat with individuals of this species,” he said, smiling. “Find and destroy their military bases. They’re probably primitive, but considering the tenacity this species shows, they’ll fight you with all they have. It shouldn’t bore you, this time.”

“Fine,” the general named Zethrid rumbled. “Vrepit sa.”

“Vrepit sa,” echoed two other voices. Lotor nodded in response, then ended the feed.

Lance gasped for breath as Lotor lifted his boot from Lance’s chest. Lance rolled to his side and curled up, coughing. “We won’t fall to the Galra,” he managed as he sucked in desperate gulps of air.

“Many planets now part of the Galra Empire have claimed the same,” Lotor agreed. “No matter the outcome, my generals will have fun with your planet.”

Lance shuddered. He managed to get his hands and knees beneath his core and rose, glaring at Lotor. “Why do you even want my planet?” he asked. “Because we’re stubborn? That seems like a weak reason.”

Lotor’s smile widened. “The druids are quite taken with the champion,” he said. “Three of the five paladins are your species. That says a lot about you.”

Lance glared at Lotor. “Technically, four of us, and that’s without Shiro taking the fifth slot,” he snapped.

Lotor shook his head. “No, even with the champion as your head, it’s four,” he said easily. “The fifth is galra. I assume you thought my generals couldn’t tell when they fought your team – and I know I already informed you that galra blood is strong and makes any other race in the bloodline irrelevant.”

Lance gritted his teeth. “The point is, you don’t want my planet. We can’t even make it out of the solar system.”

Lotor shrugged. “Many conquered species never made it as far as their own atmospheres,” he said carelessly. “And many advanced species became extinct, despite their technology. Your innate tenacity is either a virtue we can use, or a threat to be eliminated.”

 _Quiznack._ “Okay,” he said after a long moment. “If I cooperate with… whatever the heck you want from me, will you call off your attack on my planet? At least – at least for the next few, uh, deca-phoebs, or something. Even the playing ground, a bit?”

Lotor snorted. “Your cooperation isn’t worth that much,” he said dismissively.

Fair – Lance hadn’t expected agreement. “What is it worth?” he asked.

“Less time with the druids, for one,” Lotor said, raising an eyebrow. “You seemed unnerved by them.”

Lance glowered up at Lotor. “Not good enough,” he replied angrily. “How about this? I cooperate, and you let Sh – the champion go.” He swallowed hard, and his ribs protested as a shiver of disgust ran down his spine. Maybe Lotor would take him up on his offer? The team could get back in fighting shape and stave off an attack on Earth, with Shiro back. Yeah, he was the red paladin right _now,_ but the _real_ Shiro could go back to Black, and Keith could go back to Red. Or, heck, Shiro could take Red while Keith continued to pilot Black. Blue would stay with Allura. The team didn’t lose much by losing him.

Lotor was quiet for a long moment. “An unsurprising request, coming from a paladin,” he said finally. “The team comes before any individual. You expect that they left you here as a replaceable part, didn’t you? But you came for the champion because _he’s_ not replaceable.”

Lance glared at him. Perceptive bastard. “Look, your – your druids have been bragging about breaking his mind!” he snarled. Not that they were right. They couldn’t be. “He’s clearly useless to you, so let him go!”

Lotor shrugged. “I don’t tell the druids what to do with their specimens,” he said easily. “I can send you to them for healing, and that’s all the interaction I need from them. The only reason I sent you last time to them was to heal your… unfortunate injuries.”

Injuries that Lotor had caused, Lance thought furiously. “Just… Just let him go,” he pleaded.

“No.” Lance flinched at the finality behind the word. “The champion belongs to Haggar,” Lotor said, “and I much prefer her to be occupied with projects. I don’t need her bored enough to meddle with my empire.”

Lotor didn’t get along with Haggar. Good to know – if he ever got out of here to share the information with the rest of the team. “So, what now?” Lance demanded. “The druids healed me up – now what?”

Lotor smiled. “I would love to assume that you are tame enough to remain in my quarters as I go about my business,” he said easily, “but I highly doubt that. For now, I have introduced you to my generals and given them their orders, which is all I require for the moment. My guards will send you back to your cell until I summon you again. Maybe someday, you can remain here without my undivided attention – but I don’t quite trust you unsupervised, yet.”

Oh. Oh, thank _god._ The doors to Lotor’s room hissed open, revealing a galra guard. Lance didn’t bother to fight his shaking as the guard brought him back to his cell and locked him in alone.

Lance practically fled to the corner of his cell and collapsed, scooting back so he was pressed against the wall and drawing his knees up to his chest despite the protestations of his ribs.

Alone in his cell, Lance finally allowed the tears he’d been fighting for _hours_ to fall. No one would see him to taunt him, not alone as he was. A sob hitched in his throat, and he crossed his arms, gripping his biceps tightly and squeezing. God, now that he was alone, he couldn’t stop feeling Lotor’s hands all over him, grabbing and stroking him with careless irreverence, as though he had every right to touch, as though he wasn’t violating Lance’s boundaries with every caress.

And _Shiro._ He’d come here to find Shiro, but not like this. What kind of rescue could he pull off from a cell? If he’d found Shiro in the gladiator ring, the way he’d expected, they could have fought their way out together. Like this, though? With Lance trapped in a cell unless Prince Creeper wanted to see him, and with Shiro under the control of the druids?

The others had been right – running in without intel or a real plan was a stupid idea. Stupid – that was just like Lance. A giggle escaped his lungs as his vision blurred, whiting-out at the edges. “So _stupid,”_ he laughed as his vision blurred further. He wasn’t getting enough air, he thought distantly. He should stop laughing so he could breathe, but he _couldn’t._ He clutched at his arms, rocking slightly where he sat – pain in his ribs be-damned. He couldn’t stop if he wanted to, he thought hazily, his laughter almost like sobs, leaving him light-headed and dizzy.

“M-man,” he said aloud to the empty cell, “they, they s-say Red likes the impulsive ones, well, that’s me! Y’got –” his voice broke, and he took the opportunity to inhale a deep breath “– me! Too bad I didn’t, didn’t get the rest of her paladin traits!” No, he was just the goofball. The seventh wheel. The funny-man. The second choice.

He hadn’t become a fighter pilot until Keith dropped out of the Garrison and left an opening. Blue had accepted him at first, but only until Allura came into her own as a paladin, then Blue locked him out. Red didn’t accept him until after he’d accepted _Keith,_ her first choice. He’d scraped by on being _just_ good enough his whole life, never the best, never the one most-suited for the job. Looked like that was catching up with him, now. How arrogant, to think he could rescue Shiro by himself, cut-rate paladin that he was.

 _“Mijo, you’re too hard on yourself,”_ Mom had always said. He’d sometimes believed her, back on Earth. Back when he’d cried about being classed as a cargo pilot rather than fighter class, or when he’d gotten a mediocre score on a test, or when he’d failed one-too-many flight-sims in a row. The words were cold comfort now, curled up in a ball in the prison-block of an alien spaceship. He hadn’t been hard _enough_ on himself. If he’d just practiced more, planned more, or gotten better at strategy, he wouldn’t be in this situation!

Eventually, Lance managed to get his breathing under control. He forced himself to relax, to uncurl from his protective ball. Okay. He needed to rest, and he’d sleep a lot better on the thin pad that passed for a bed than he would on the grimy floor. The guards who came by every ten vargas or so would probably leave food for him while he slept, but it wasn’t like the swill would get any more disgusting being left out for a while. He could refuel and build his energy after he slept. Lance staggered to his pallet and collapsed, grimacing as his ribs protested the movement. They were definitely bruised, he thought, but no way he’d bring that up to Lotor. He didn’t need another session with the druids any time soon.

Eventually, after what must have been hours of deep breathing and purposefully blanking his thoughts, Lance fell asleep.

* * *

The doors hissed open, and Lance was on his feet almost instantly, crying out as his ribs protested the sudden change in position. The thin-faced guard before him wasn’t one he’d seen before, he realized. “You a newbie?” he asked, his voice thick with sleep.

The guard narrowed her eyes. “The Blade of Marmora has eyes everywhere,” she murmured quietly. “I’ve shut down power to this deck, but it won’t hold for long. Take your third left and go straight to reach your pod. Hurry, before you are discovered.”

Lance blinked rapidly, staring at the guard. “You’re –”

“Trying to get you out without being discovered,” the galra said impatiently. “Go. Please, hurry.”

Lance hesitated. “What about Shiro?” he asked. “You know, the other human, the one the druids have?”

The galra shook her head. “He is beyond our reach,” she said heavily. “You need to get out. I must go, before it’s discovered that I left my post. This needs to seem like a coincidental power failure.” She spun on her heel and made her way down the corridor without a second glance.

Yeah, not happening. “Okay, so go back to your post,” Lance muttered, exiting the cell and looking down the darkened hall for the most likely path to the druids’ creepy torture-chamber of a lab. He was pretty sure he could remember the path the guards had used when taking him to Lotor. If he followed the path they’d taken him, he could probably guess his way to Shiro.

…Or they’d capture him and take him back to his cell, but hey, what was life without a little risk? Lance stuck close to the walls as he made his way towards Lotor’s quarters, turning left two hallways early. Call it instinct, call it idiocy, but something told him he’d find Shiro here.

He expected to run into the druid lab, but instead he found himself facing another set of cells. Cautiously, Lance made his way down the corridor, glancing through each tiny window, just in case.

He found Shiro at the end of the corridor, alone and unmoving on a thin mat in a tiny cell. Lance cursed, staring at the access panel. He had no way to open the door, so now, what?!

 **“Halt.”** Lance froze, registering a sentry at the corner of his eye. **“State your prisoner identification number.”**

Oh, heck no. Lance launched at the sentry, cackling as its clumsily-aimed gun spewed laser-fire across the block. He wrenched the gun from the sentry and aimed the weapon at its face. “Bye-bye, baby!” he crowed, shooting the sentry point-blank.

….Okay, in retrospect, he should have expected the blast to have major kickback. Lance grunted as he was thrown back against the prison wall, hitting hard and sliding down painfully. Yeah, his back was gonna be one giant bruise. He didn’t have time to worry about _now,_ though. Lance ran towards the sentry and wrenched at its arm, relieved with how easily the limb came away from the rest of the chassis. Shoddy engineering. A similar design from Hunk would’ve taken a lot more effort, he thought to himself.

Lance pressed the sentry’s palm to the access panel and sighed with relief as the door slid open immediately. He steeled himself and strode into the cell. “Shiro?” he called softly, staring at the body before him.

Shiro twitched, his brow furrowing. “No,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “No, you can’t…”

“Shiro, it’s Lance,” he said quietly, kneeling beside the man. Shiro shuddered and looked up, staring at Lance with haunted, unfocused eyes.

“No,” he said finally. “They don’t have you. They don’t. It’s all a lie – I won’t let them have you. Please get out of my head.”

Okay, the druids were right about one thing – Shiro’s brain was scrambled, for now. But he’d recognized Lance, and that was something. Lance hooked his arm around Shiro’s waist and pulled him up, allowing the former black paladin to lean heavily against him. “We’re getting out of here, Shiro,” he promised, taking a few steps forward. Shiro followed without complaint, which was probably encouraging. “That’s it, one at a time, don’t get caught. C’mon, walk with me.”

Shiro stumbled after him, his eyes wide and blown. “This is new,” he said finally.

Lance grimaced. “Yeah, I’m not the ideal escape party,” he admitted, dragging Shiro down a side corridor.

“Usually it’s one of the lions, or a member of the Blade,” Shiro mumbled. “Why’s it Lance, this time?”

That stung a little, but Lance would take the time to feel hurt at Shiro’s disbelief later. “Sorry it’s not a full-blown rescue party,” he huffed, hefting Shiro’s arm higher up around his shoulders. He grimaced as his ribs protested, but kept moving. “We’ll meet up with the others in no time, don’t wor – hey!” he yelped, cutting off abruptly as Shiro reared back, wrenching his arm away from Lance and backing away slowly.

“Shiro?” Lance asked, taking a step towards the trembling man.

Shiro’s eyes were glassy as he stared at Lance. “You don’t have the others,” he whispered. “You don’t. I won’t let that happen.”

Lance grimaced. Yep, the druids had definitely done a number on Shiro. “You think I’m a hallucination, don’t you?” he asked, raising his hands. “Some kind of druid thing? D’you really think an induced-hallucination of me would wear _this?”_ he asked, gesturing at the weird clothes Lotor’s goons had dressed him in.

Shiro blinked, his gaze sharpening slightly. “That’s… Different from the usual technique,” he said finally.

Lance offered a slight smile. “That’s because this isn’t a mind-control technique. This is grade-A, 100% real Lance,” he said gently. “Can we keep moving? The power won’t be down much longer.”

As if on cue, the purple lights that lined the hall began to spark, a sure sign that the power was about to return. “Shiro, _please,”_ Lance pleaded.

Shiro shook his head, but he squared his shoulders and gestured for Lance to keep moving. “I almost wish Slav were here to tell me the odds that this is real,” he muttered, and Lance nearly laughed out loud.

Despite the power coming back on, the halls were eerily empty. Lance only had to shoot a few errant sentries with his stolen sentry blaster as they made their way towards the dock where Lance’s pod was held. Shiro pressed his hand to the access pad, and the doors hissed open, revealing the welcome sight of the pod Lance had arrived in.

Less welcome were the figures standing right in front of it. Lance wavered on his feet as he took in Lotor’s cold, impassive expression, the snarl of the soldier next to him, and the crumpled body of the galra who had freed Lance from his cell. Not good. Lance raised the stolen blaster, his arms trembling. “Let us through,” he ordered, his voice trembling.

“Really, Lance?” Lotor asked, tapping a finger against the pommel of the actual freaking _sword_ he held in his right hand. “This is your grand escape plan? Steal the champion and flee in a pod, knowing that you have maybe a quintent’s worth of fuel at best? I see you’re not Voltron’s strategist.”

Lance’s hands were shaking too badly to fire the blaster. He could feel Shiro’s unnatural stillness just behind him – as much as he would love for Shiro to take command of the situation, he knew he had to stay in control. Somehow. “You can’t hold us forever,” he replied, trying to muster up a glare. “Let us go now, before the rest of the team gets involved and rips you apart.”

Lotor smiled, a cold thing that did not reach his eyes. “I’d like that,” he said easily. “I’d take your galra paladin and shape him into a new general, loyal to me. I’d finally be able to exterminate the remaining Alteans. I could reclaim the champion’s clone and send him to the arena. I imagine your green and yellow paladins would do well there too, at least until one was forced to tear the other apart!”

The kickback from the blaster nearly knocked Lance back into Shiro as he fired instinctively. The blast missed Lotor by a good several feet, but whatever, point made. He could call it a warning shot. “Again with the monologues,” he muttered, trying to still his trembling hands. He couldn’t miss with this next shot.

“You’re right – let’s end this,” Lotor said. He turned to the galra beside him. “Secure the champion and return him to the druids, but don’t touch my paladin. I’ll subdue him myself,” Lotor said, turning to face Lance, “and teach him a new level of pain.”

Shiro roared in fury, and Lance stumbled backwards as the former black paladin darted to the side and sprinted at Lotor, his arm glowing purple. _“You won’t touch him!”_ Shiro snarled, his arm clashing loudly against Lotor’s sword. Lance gaped for a split second, then took the opportunity to fire at the galra soldier. The soldier roared as the blast singed his barely-exposed neck fur and charged at Lance who fired again – quiznack, he _almost_ hit – before being knocked to the floor.

“Get off him!” Lotor shouted at the soldier, even as he struggled to defend against Shiro’s furious onslaught. “He is _mine!”_

The galra hesitated, and Lance took the opportunity to draw back his legs and kick the galra soldier in the gut, creating just enough space to scramble free and grab the gun. His ribs could hate him later – he needed to _move,_ not baby himself because of a little pain. He seized the blaster and aimed it at the soldier.

The soldier hadn’t managed to get to his feet before Lance was on him, shooting him once at an angle to knock the helmet off his head, then again, the beam hitting right between the soldier’s eyes. The soldier collapsed, his yellow eyes dimming, and Lance swallowed back nausea. Looking someone in the eyes as they died was _way_ different from the intellectual knowledge that someone had once occupied an exploding spacecraft.

He couldn’t think about that now. Lance turned his attention towards Lotor, who had managed to turn the tides to get Shiro on the defensive. Lance gripped the blaster with both hands and charged, a wordless scream ripping from his throat as he launched himself at the galra prince. He tackled Lotor, knocking the man to the ground. “Shiro, get in the pod!” he yelled.

Lotor snarled and seized the loose white overshirt Lance wore, dragging him down and rolling so that he knelt over Lance. Lance dropped the gun and went for Lotor’s eyes, clawing at the man’s face. Lotor snarled, then threw himself to the side, rolling away just as Shiro’s prosthetic arm’s blade swiped across the place where his neck had been.

Lance struggled to his feet and stared at Lotor, who stood several feet away, panting hard, his handsome face twisted with hate. “Flee, then,” Lotor spat. “I will find _both_ of you. I will ensure that when my generals take your planet, not a single one of your loved ones survives!”

Lance shuddered, keeping his eyes on Lotor as he herded Shiro towards the pod. “You won’t get close enough to them to kill them,” he spat.

“Maybe not,” Lotor hissed. “Maybe I’ll exterminate the whole planet. Regardless, it will be the least of your worries, _Lance._ I will reclaim you, and I will _break_ you.”

Lance nodded, pretending that his heart wasn’t jack-rabbiting in his chest. “Good talk,” he called, backing into the pod. He was practically sitting on Shiro’s lap – the pod wasn’t meant for two – but hey, the castle-ship wasn’t far. Assuming it hadn’t moved.

Well, hey, at the worst, he could always find a planet to land on and put out a distress signal… And hope the galra weren’t the ones to answer . Lance pressed the button to close the pod, maintaining eye contact with Lotor until the vehicle was safely closed, then turned his attention to the exit. “And out we go, before Lotor manages to pull us back in,” he muttered, starting up the controls and pushing the speed lever to its maximum.

They’d been flying for nearly a half-varga, Lance attempting to guide them back to where the castle-ship had last been, before Shiro spoke. “This is real?” he asked, his voice strangely thin and wobbly.

Lance nodded, casting a glance at Shiro. “Yeah, it’s real,” he said, his lips twitching into a tiny smile. “They messed with your mind pretty bad, didn’t they?”

Shiro took a shaky breath. “Every time I thought I was escaping, it was a simulation,” he said quietly. “Punishment was always soon to follow.”

Lance winced, trying hard not to imagine the horrors his friend had endured. “But you never got out this far?” he asked gently.

Shiro shook his head. “And I never had to directly defy a galra on my way out,” he said quietly. “And it was always an organized effort to rescue me. This… wasn’t organized.” He smiled weakly.

Lance huffed an acknowledgement. “Yeah, well, technically everyone told me _not_ to come for you without a solid group plan, but you know me, I’m terrible at listening,” he said, dropping the smile. “The team will be happy to have you back, though,” he added. “We all missed you.”

Shiro nodded. “How _did_ you know to come for me?” he asked curiously. “I was awake for some of it – I know they sent a clone to you guys. He didn’t… He didn’t attack you or anything, did he?”

Lance bit back a laugh at the idea of not-Shiro attacking them. “Nothing even close,” he said, shaking his head. “Nah, the dude knew there was a cloning project going on, and the black lion wasn’t really accepting him, despite saving him from dying in space. He actually came to _us_ with the clone theory. Then Coran scanned him at his request, and the scans picked up something artificial in his DNA. He’s not you, but he’s got your most of your personality and memories, and he’s still a good guy.”

Shiro seemed to melt back into the seat. “Good,” he said, his voice ragged. “Then Haggar failed. He was meant to break the team apart.”

Lance didn’t have anything to say to that. He hummed slightly to himself, tilting the navigation knob to change course. “The ship _was_ right up ahead,” he muttered, “but I don’t think that’s right anymore.”

Shiro nodded. “Getting some sort of signal from Blue?” he asked.

Blue. Yeah, if only. “If I’m getting a signal from anyone, it’s Red,” he said. “We’ve had a bit of a switch-up since you left. When Keith took over Black, Red chose me. Allura’s got Blue. I guess, with you back, I’ll be playing the bench while you guys re-organize again,” he said, smiling weakly and pretending that the thought didn’t send the sticky feeling of failure through him.

“I doubt that,” Shiro said quietly. “I can’t imagine Voltron without you as a paladin.”

Lance swallowed hard, choking down the lump that threatened to form in his throat. Shiro was just being nice, but _still._ It meant a lot.

Static played in the lower left of the screen, where the coms usually displayed. Lance frowned. “That’s weird,” he muttered. The pod was equipped for close-range voice communication, but not much else. Ah well, what the heck. He pressed the comms button, and leapt up with a yelp as the entire visual window filled with Pidge’s face.

“ –likely that – guys!” Pidge yelped as she turned from whoever she’d been talking to, seemingly realizing that her hail had been accepted. “You picked up! Oh my god, is that actually you, Lance?! _Shiro?!”_

Lance grinned sheepishly and waved. “Hey, so, I know you told me not to go after Shiro,” he said weakly, “but, uh, surprise?”

“Pidge,” Shiro said, sounding almost as lost as he had back in the prison blocks. “And… the rest of you?”

Pidge nodded. “Hey, Coran!” she yelled over her shoulder. “Page the others! I’ve got incoming on Lance and Shiro!”

“Got it, number five!” Coran replied in the background. Lance gritted his teeth, because damnit this was a _happy_ occasion, and he was not going to cry.

“Lance, you idiot, I’m going to kick your butt when you get here,” Pidge said, her eyes watering uncharacteristically. “You can’t do this to us! We were going to figure out a plan to find him _together_ , you know!”

“Is that Lance? Coran said it’s Lance!” Pidge yelped as Hunk shouldered her aside. Tears streamed freely from Hunks eyes as he pressed his hands against the screen, as though that would let him touch. “Lance! And Shiro! Aw, man, neither of you can disappear again, I was going crazy! Don’t make me put you both on child-leashes!” Hunk swiped his arm across his eyes, which glistened as he stared at them. “I owe you both hugs. And your favorite meals. And, apparently, _tracking bracelets –_ you’d better believe Pidge and I made a set of those!”

“I still think a tracking chip would be more effective,” Pidge grumbled in the background.

Lance barked out a laugh, swiping at his own wet eyes. “Love ya too, Hunk,” he said, offering a watery grin. “Sorry we scared you?”

“Yeah, you should be,” Hunk said, trying and failing to glare. “Especially you, Lance! At least Shiro didn’t disappear on purpose, so I can’t be mad at him – you, do you know how _terrifying_ it was, first trying to find you, and then Pidge made contact and – and that was almost worse! Knowing where you were was almost worse than not knowing!”

Lance sniffed and fixed his friend with an apologetic smile. “Sorry, Hunk,” he said.

Hunk sniffled again, then nodded. “You’d better be,” he said. “Because here comes Keith’s wrath.”

Oh, no. “Can that wait ‘til we get back to the ship?”

“No, it can’t.” Lance allowed a watery laugh to escape his chest as Keith practically hip-checked Hunk out of the way and took a seat in front of them. “You – both of you – are idiots,” Keith said. He might have been intimidating, had his voice not cracked as he spoke. “I mean it!” he added. “You’re both idiots!”

Lance slumped forward, chuckling. “Hey, mullet,” he said wearily, relaxing slightly and taking a step back. Keith had always responded best to Shiro. Shiro could take over.

“Hey, Keith,” Shiro said quietly. “How’s Black been working out for you?”

Keith stiffened, and damn, was that a tear running down his face? Not that Lance would say anything – he’d keep it as blackmail, or something. Probably.

“She misses you, Shiro,” Keith said finally, his voice cracking. “Some days she barely lets me in. She made it pretty clear that my access is – was – conditional. She wants you back.” Something between a laugh and a sob tore from his throat, something too raw for Lance to comment on. “She accepts me because she knows you wanted this, but you’re her real paladin. And, honestly, I’m glad to turn her back over to you. She’ll be happy about it.”

Shiro offered a smile. “Well, hopefully we’ll run into you guys soon, and I can make my absence up to her,” he said, smiling at the screen.

Keith snorted. “Please,” he said. “Blue left nearly a varga ago. I’m betting she’s on her way to pick you up.”

Lance frowned. “Blue?” he asked, confused. “Shouldn’t she be with Allura?”

Keith shrugged. “Black threw up a particle barrier right after Blue left,” he said easily. “And Red called to me just after Black shut me out. I think we’re being called back to the lions we started with. Don’t worry,” he added, turning to address Lance. “Allura’s not mad. If anything, she’s relieved – apparently running the castle is a multi-person job, and leaving it to Coran alone has actually let a few systems get out-of-whack.” Keith shuddered. “We found that out when… well, we had a few situations while you were gone. It’ll be good to have you guys back, and two Alteans to man the ship.”

Shiro had relaxed, but Lance couldn’t help but note the missing castle-inhabitant. “What about, uh, not-Shiro?” he asked.

Keith blinked. “Oh, Kuro?” he asked. “Yeah, don’t ask about the name, he picked it,” he added hastily. “Uh, yesterday he asked for a ship to go out looking for information. I’m pretty sure he’s trying to track down Pidge’s family, right now,” he said. “He didn’t connect with any of the lions, and I think he was uncomfortable staying here, given the circumstances. So, uh, that’s that. He said he’d check in with us sometimes – he’ll be glad to know you’re both back.”

“Stop hogging them, Keith!” Pidge yelled from somewhere offscreen.

“I agree with Pidge. Move.” Lance blinked with surprise as Allura’s face filled the screen. Lance was shocked to see shadows under her normally bright eyes, now watery and exhausted. “Are you all right, Lance?” she asked, her face pinched. “Lotor said some rather disturbing things about his plans for you, when Pidge contacted him. Are you hurt?”

Lance grimaced. “My ribs are busted, but he had those freaky druids heal most of the damage,” he said. Behind him, Shiro stiffened, inhaling sharply. “I’ll be fine, Allura.”

Allura’s eyes widened. “The druids?” she said, her face filling with pity. “Oh, Lance…”

Lance shivered, his stomach dropping. “I’m _fine,”_ he said, then paused. “I think. Uh, scan me when we get to the castle, I was unconscious for the first bit. Better make sure I’m not a clone, right?” he said.

Whatever Allura was going to say was shut out by a loud roar, and Lance dropped the communication. He practically leapt from his seat, unleashing a whoop as the blue lion turned directly in front of the ship, her mouth open and ready to draw them in. “Hey, Blue,” he murmured, guiding the pod into the Lion’s head. He waited until Blue had closed her mouth before pressing the button to open the pod doors – neither he nor Shiro were exactly equipped for deep-space conditions, dressed only in jumpsuits and weird shirts. At least Shiro had boots, Lance thought wryly, hissing as his bare feet came in contact with the cold metal floor.

Lance had to help Shiro out of the pod, but that was okay. He was back with _Blue,_ and that felt more right than anything. He took a deep breath, letting Blue’s general aura wash over him, soaking in her relief. She’d been terrified for him, he realized, throughout the entire movement that he’d been gone. “Sorry, Blue,” he murmured, making his way to the control-room proper, Shiro right on his heels.

 _Don’t ever do that again,_ Blue rumbled in his mind – or something to that sentiment, at least. It wasn’t like the lions used actual words.

“I’ll try,” Lance said, settling in the chair. It felt _right,_ to be at Blue’s controls again. He and Red had grown accustomed to each other, had even developed a sort of easy camaraderie, but Blue was the one he understood best. From the emotions she was pressing into his mind in response to his thoughts, she was glad to have him back too. Huh. And here he’d thought she’d have preferred her connection with Allura.

Shiro gripped the back of Lance’s chair as he flew for the castle, following his instincts and Blue’s gentle nudges in his mind. Finally. After a full movement trapped on a galra ship, it was a relief to be heading home.

* * *

 

Okay, he knew the others would be glad to see him and Shiro, but Lance hadn’t expected the entire castle to be waiting in Blue’s bay when they docked. Lance smiled weakly as he and Shiro exited the lion, Shiro slumped tiredly against Lance’s protesting side. “Hey, guys,” Lance called.

“Give him here,” Coran said, rushing forward to take Shiro’s weight from Lance. “I’ll get him to a pod, then I’ll come back and scan you to ensure you have no druidic damage,” he said, nodding at Lance. “You have quite a lot of explaining to do to the rest of your team.”

Quiznack. Lance grimaced and turned to face the others. “Sorry I worried you?” he offered, shrugging.

“Oh, forget that!” Hunk yelped, running forward and wrapping Lance in a surprisingly gentle hug. “Allura said your ribs are hurt, so you’ll get your real hug when you get out of the pod,” he said, running his hands in gentle circles across Lance’s back. “Don’t do that again,” he ordered, burying his face in Lance’s shoulder. “I can’t lose my best friend – I can’t, no way.”

“Ditto.” Lance jumped, yelping as pain burst through his bicep where Pidge had punched him - _hard_. “You idiot, the team doesn’t work without you! _We_ don’t work without you! I already lost Matt – don’t you dare make me lose another brother!”

Lance blinked, swallowing past a lump in his throat. Best friend? _Brother?_ But… that didn’t make sense. He was the team goofball, and sure maybe that made him fun, but it didn’t make him _important._

“Lance.” Keith’s voice was quiet, almost inaudible. “I’m glad you’re back.”

Lance chuckled, trying and failing to untangle himself from Hunk’s arms. “Thanks,” he said.

Keith nodded seriously, his eyes fixed on the floor. “If you ever pull a harebrained stunt like that again, I’m coming after you with Red’s fire-breath,” he said, deadpan. “I don’t know what you were… what you were thinking…” Lance winced as Keith’s voice rose, his face reddening. Keith clenched his fists and glared at the tile beneath his feet, clearly too-worked up to finish the thought. Quiznack. Angry-Keith was one thing, but Lance didn’t think he’d ever seen Keith _this_ righteously furious.

Lance extricated himself from Hunk’s arms with a quiet sigh and made his way over to Keith. “I’m not sorry for going after Shiro,” he said quietly, wincing internally as Keith’s expression shifted to one of utter rage. “No, I mean it. I’m not. You didn’t see him with the druids, or on the ship in general – it was _bad._ I won’t apologize for getting him out of there.” Keith’s face was nearly the shade of a tomato, now, and Lance raised his hands in surrender before his friend _literally_ had a heart attack. _“However,”_ he said, “I’m sorry I went off by myself with no plan and without telling you where I was going.” He shuddered, fighting the urge to wrap his arms around his torso to fight off the invading touch of phantom hands. “Trust me, I reeeeeally don’t want to repeat that experience. If something like this comes up again, I’ll wait until we have a plan.”

Keith took a deep, measured breath and exhaled slowly. Aw, someone was learning anger-management. Yet another thing to add to the ‘list of things to tease Keith about.’ Lance waited silently, letting Keith take several controlled breaths before responding. “I’m glad we have Shiro back,” Keith said finally. “Shiro isn’t replaceable,” he added, “but neither are you. You know how losing Shiro messed us up? Losing you was just as bad.”

That was nice of Keith to say. It probably wasn’t true, but it was nice anyways. Lance was about to reply when Keith spoke again. “Besides,” Keith said, meeting Lance’s eyes for a split second before looking away again, a small smile crossing his face. “What kind of rival are you, cutting and running before you’ve beaten me at anything?”

Lance’s jaw dropped, and he stared at Keith, warmth fizzling through his chest. Keith had _never_ taken their rivalry seriously! And… honestly, the rivalry had just been good fun on Lance’s part for the past few months – or phoebs, whatever. For a while now, anyways. He grinned at Keith, resisting the urge to hug him. “You’re just jealous that _I_ saved Shiro, this time!” he crowed.

“What?” Keith looked up sharply, glaring at him. “No, I’m not. That’s really –”

“Keith,” Pidge interrupted, “he’s making a joke about you being rivals.”

Keith blinked. “Oh,” he said. “Got it.”

Allura cleared her throat. “May I speak to Lance alone?” she asked, narrowing her eyes at the other paladins. Lance gulped, clasping his hands together and turning slightly to face Allura.

Hunk was the first to respond. “Yep, got it,” he said, seizing Pidge by the shoulder and beckoning at Keith. “We’ll be in the lounge area, Lance!” he called, leading the others out of the blue lion’s hangar.

Lance frowned as he regarded Allura, noting her tightly-pressed lips and weary eyes. “Princess?” he ventured hesitantly. “Are you all right?”

Allura looked up at him, her face twisted in an unnatural pantomime of a smile. “I’m perfectly fine, Lance,” she said, her voice unusually high. “I’m more worried about you.”

Lance sighed and relaxed his stance. He allowed himself to drop to a cross-legged position on the floor and motioned for Allura to join him. “You can be honest with me, princess,” he said seriously. “Everyone else chewed me out. Just get it over with.”

Allura’s face fell, and she dropped down to sit before him, her shoulders slumping. “I’m not going to, as you put it, ‘chew you out,’” she said. “The others have done that better than I could. I really am worried – I cannot fathom the cruelty you endured,” she said quietly, catching a strand of hair between two fingers and toying with it, staring at her hand. “Lotor was rather graphic about his plans for you, when he took you. He said – he said terrible things,” she admitted, not looking at Lance.

Lance swallowed hard and ducked his head, staring at the floor. “What’d he say?” he asked, his voice cracking embarrassingly.

Allura shuddered. “He said… He said he planned to warp your mind,” she said quietly. “He planned to break you down and mold you as a mindless slave, devoted to him.” She grimaced, her hands falling limp in her lap. “He said he would make you his own in every possible way. And you said he sent you to the druids – please, Lance, tell the truth. How badly did he hurt you?”

Lance winced. He was tempted to make a quip that Lotor’s monologues had been the most painful thing of all, but he was pretty sure that would only upset Allura further. “He broke my nose and dislocated my shoulders before sending me with the druids,” he said, reaching out and gently resting a hand on Allura’s shoulder, squeezing gently when she relaxed. “After that, he managed to bust up my ribs by throwing me down and stepping on me. Escaping didn’t do my ribs many favors, but I’m _fine,”_ he insisted.

Allura didn’t look convinced. _Think, Lance._ “Look,” he said finally, “Lotor was unpleasant, don’t get me wrong. If I ran into him in battle, I don’t think I’d feel bad about shooting him.” Understatement of the decaphoeb – Lance would be delighted to shoot him in battle, at this point – but he didn’t think that being brutally honest about how he would enjoy shooting Lotor would make Allura feel any better. “Mostly, he was just creepy – no respect for personal space, calling me… weird things, acting like I...” Lance grimaced as his throat tightened, making it hard to get the words out. “He acted like I was a thing, not a person,” he choked out. “It sucked.”

“Oh, Lance,” Allura whispered, her eyes widening. “I’m so, so sorry.”

Lance’s eyes stung, and he ducked his head. If he didn’t do something to lighten the situation, he was going to cry, and nope, that was the last thing he wanted right now. Could he get away with making a quip about monologues now?

Quiznack, it was too late. Lance ducked his head further as a tear slipped down his cheek, followed by another. He clenched his teeth, willing himself to keep it to silent tears. There was no way he was going to actually break down over this. “Anyways, that’s not important,” he said, his voice embarrassingly thick. He swallowed hard and focused on breathing for a few ticks, until he was sure he could talk without sobbing. “I know Voltron has to be available for the whole universe,” he said. “But Lotor sent his generals to Earth. He wants to either convert humans to his side or destroy us. I – I know we probably aren’t top priority, but –”

“No,” Allura said fiercely. “That _is_ a top priority. Thank you for telling me, Lance,” she said, taking a deep, shaky breath. “You’re from Earth – all of the paladins are from Earth. It is paramount that yours remains a free planet,” she said, offering a tiny smile. “Voltron protects _everyone,_ and if your planet is in trouble, it’s up to Voltron to defend it. I’ll open a wormhole immediately,” she said. She laid a hand on Lance’s shoulder, warm and grounding. “You’d better be prepared for a fight when you finish with your healing-pod,” she said earnestly.

As if on cue, Coran cleared his throat. Lance jerked back with an embarrassing yelp – he hadn’t even heard the man re-enter Blue’s bay. “Princess, if I may?” he asked, beckoning Lance towards him, brandishing what looked like some kind of… stick. It just looked like a stick. Lance rose and stood before Coran’s scanning device. His heart pounded hard, practically threatening to burst from his chest – what if Haggar had done something to him? What if he was some weird clone?

“As human and organic as they come!” Coran proclaimed, pocketing his scanning device. “Good. No need to recalibrate the pods, then. Come along, Lance.”

Lance smiled at Allura, then turned and hastily trotted to keep up with Coran. He shivered with relief as he stripped out of the Galra clothing – which he kinda hoped Coran would burn – and donned the grey medical suit of a medical pod visitor. Lance took a deep breath before entering the pod, shivering slightly as the door sealed shut around him and the pod began to fill with the Altean equivalent of happy-gas and fluid healing liquid.

Unconsciousness came gently, but swiftly, and Lance sank gratefully into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I've enabled comment moderation primarily because some parts of the Voltron fandom can get pretty, shall we say intense, when it comes to coming down hard on things that are less-than-pure. That doesn't mean I don't want to hear from you guys! Comments feed my soul, and anything that isn't uncalled-for hate will be approved.


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